Baby Ken

My cervix was almost dilated by the full centimetres. The contractions were coming every minute, and I no longer even had the strength to scream. An interminable three hours later, I finally heard the baby’s first cry. Then I passed out. When I came to, a nurse had cleaned up the baby, wrapped it in a tiny blue blanket and placed it next to me. I touched his soft, soft cheek, and could no longer hold back the flood of tears. It was a baby boy, and he looked just like his father. I had to miss James’s funeral, but I heard that Tristan had a big fight with the rest of his family at the memorial service. I didn’t need to be there to know what the fight was about—money. News of the Valentine family splitting up was soon making its rounds online a day after the funeral. Claire didn’t want me to worry, so she told me nothing. But I was still hit by a bout of postpartum depression, the direct result of which was a lack of breast milk for baby Ken. He had to be fed baby formula, and I felt inc